


The Frost Flower

by Violettan1227



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Developing Friendships, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Thor: The Dark World, human! loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-02-28 00:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13260054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violettan1227/pseuds/Violettan1227
Summary: Bucky, who pulled Steve out of the Potomac, is struggling with his memory and trying to deal with everything wrong in his life. Loki, who faked his death but never got back to Asgard, is losing his magical power and becoming a human. Surely it was a coincidence that they wound up meeting each other and seeing that they actually had a lot in common. However, both Bucky and Loki have many ghosts in their past. What will happen when they return to haunt them? Not to mention the Avengers, who are more lively but just as, if not more, problematic. Will they yield to their demons, or will they face them together?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, this is my first time writing on Archive on Our Own so this might be terrible - but if you like Loki/Bucky, please feel free to give it a try! I'm really bad at summaries. I welcome all kinds of feedback, so please leave a reply if you want :) Thank you for reading and hope you enjoy my work!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to yumekuimono for becoming my beta! She has done a wonderful job in editing the chapters and I really appreciate her efforts. I'd also like to thank everyone who has left a kudo for this fic! I'm glad you enjoy my work and i appreciate your support.

He didn’t remember much - or rather, couldn’t. His mind was a mess of bodies and bullets and blood, burning in a fire that could never be extinguished. Trembling, he screamed and whimpered but no one was there. The rainwater that drenched his body suffocated him, engulfing him like ocean waves and pressing him under to the endless bottom. His blood burned and boiled at the same time. Everything hurt.

 

Then everything stopped, the air no longer sick like merciless murky water, the rain no longer piercing like a thousand thin needles. The fire in his blood quieted along with the screeching in his brain. Suddenly, he could hear himself gasping like a strangled man finally granted air. A presence loomed above him, powerful and yet so frail. 

 

He dared to look up, and gasped at what he saw. The being looked at him with pity in its glowing crimson eyes, masked by complete indifference. A faint blue light glowed on its skin, which was marked by faint lines that circled like ancient runes. He wondered whether he was facing God or the Devil. 

 

The being looked down at him as it would an ant on the floor, but its expression held no contempt. It spoke with a voice like thunder, and the Soldier flinched.

 

“Are you afraid?”

 

_ Afraid? _ He blinked slowly.  _ No, not that. _ A wave of emotions raced through his veins, yet fear was not one of them. When he tried to shake his head, he froze. He opened his mouth instead, his voice coarse and quiet. “Why… Why are you so sad?”

 

The being tumbled back as if struck, its red eyes widening with a glow more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. It stared at him like he had grown a second head, and then laughed - a mirthless, bitter laughter. He didn’t understand what that meant. 

 

“You piteous, miserable creature, crumbling apart like dirt where no one sees or cares, yet you call me sad?”

 

“Aren’t you? I’m good at reading people,” he retorted, then regretted it. This being could probably turn him to dust with just a snap of its fingers.  _ Maybe that would be a good thing. The best thing for me and everyone else.  _ With this thought in mind, he raised his head and met the red eyes defiantly, challenging the being to wipe out his existence. It sighed, and looked even sadder. Then a mischievous smirk replaced that expression in a desperate pretense, a facade that it knew he would see through but had to put up anyway.

 

“I am not a ‘person’ that you can read, mortal.” The being chuckled softly. It sounded like a sob. “You are an interesting one indeed… Your lives are so vibrant but fleeting. Perhaps that is more of a shame than I thought it to be.”

 

_ Who are you? _ he wanted to ask.  _ What are you? Why are you here? Why are you pretending? Why did you erase my pain if I am so insignificant in your eyes? _

 

_ Why are you crying? _

 

But there was no time. The world blurred and the being dimmed, and soon he knew nothing at all. 


	2. Freezing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky thinking about his past and trying to find a reason to keep going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: reference to suicide in this chapter, mention of violence, Bucky's PTSD.

Bucky rose from his bed. Cold sweat ran down his cheek, and his chest heaved rapidly. He checked his surroundings with the precision of a professional assassin, and began to calm his breathing. The location remained safe for now--there was no evidence of another being’s presence.

 

The sound of water dripping opened a floodgate. Memories flew through his mind with impressive speed, rushing past and slamming like waves. Each impact knocked him more awake. He remembered rain and fire and seawater. He remembered a blue shadow with scarlet eyes, so deep in sorrow that the image physically pained him. It was a dream, or should have been. However, he couldn't ignore how real it felt. The raindrops had fallen like knives and everything in his body hurt. He could swear he had felt the roughness of the ground, heard the passing of a car and smelt the decaying scent of a back alley. And he definitely saw the demon-slash-angel with blue skin and red eyes. While this was bizarre as well as intriguing, he didn't see any benefits or ways to investigate the dream further. He shrugged and dropped the matter.

 

Bucky splashed water on his face, and tried to make himself more presentable for the work day ahead. He used the name “James” with his employer, since he felt the most comfortable with it. He also liked the way “Bucky” sounded, although only the blond man had called him that before. _Steve,_ he reminded himself, _his name is Steve._

 

Unfortunately, the bits and pieces of memory that dawned on him each new day did not help at all when it came to matching names to faces--which was ironic, since that was the Winter Soldier’s first skill requirement. Particularly, he had trouble with the face of Steve Rogers. He saw a skinny, short boy with sapphire eyes when he thought of that name. Bucky didn't know why.

 

He placed an old journal on the floor, took a deep breath, and started to write.

 

_It was raining._

 

He paused, aware of the irregularities in his own heartbeat, but he shook his head and continued anyway.

 

_It was raining. The target was walking home from work on his usual route. All clear. Suddenly there was a car, and the asset had to wait until it left because there could be no witnesses. The car stopped however and the door opened and there was a--_

 

Throbbing pain banged against the inside of his skull. Bucky nearly put down his pen, fingers trembling, but he had to continue.

 

_\--and there was a boy and he ran to the target and the target held him up and the boy laughed. The car drove away. The boy was probably no more than five.He had golden hair and blue eyes. The asset waited for the mark. The asset took the shot and the target went down. Blood splattered on the boy’s face and he screamed and screamed and screamed._

 

He was back in the night with rain burning his skin like acid. The scream echoed in his ears and he put both hands over them. He couldn’t tell if the sound belonged to the boy or himself.

 

_The asset had to retrieve the item. The asset stepped into the rain and walked to the target and the boy stared. There was a lasting shock  on his face. The boy wasn't afraid of the asset. he just stared. The asset found the hard drive on the target’s body. It was stained with blood. The boy stared at the asset and stopped screaming._

 

_No witnesses no witnesses no witnesses no witnesses no witnesses no wit--_

 

Bucky caught himself before losing control and threw the journal against the mirror with a crash. The boy reminded him of Steve. Steve when he was not the Captain but the thin, stubborn little punk. He saw the asset shoot the boy and he saw himself shoot Steve over and over. He punched the mirror until few broken pieces remained. He stared at his own distorted reflection. It was him alright, a broken, twisted abomination, a monster with more than one part of his body destroyed.

 

A wave of nausea swept him off his feet. He panted as his fingers traced the broken glass on the floor. Here lay the quick solution to all of his problems--there would be a lot of blood but he knew where to cut. There would be no more rain, no more ice or bodies or bullets or blood, no more faces that stared, no more killing Steve over and over again.

 

The tip of the glass travelled like a ghost. It drifted in silence until it rested above his jugular.

 

Suddenly the room dimmed and he stood on a bridge. The man there looked at him and shook his head with so much disappointment in his eyes that Bucky dropped the glass shard.

 

“Dammit, Steve,” he sighed, his voice hoarse and raw.  “You still never let me take the easy way out. Stubborn punk.”

 

The phone he’d found in one of the abandoned Hydra basements shouted at him. He picked it up slowly as exhaustion kicked in.

 

“Hello, James. I was wondering if you could come in a little earlier today--I’m having some trouble with my car. If you can’t I understand perfectly…”

 

“No problem.” Bucky tried to sound professional and perfectly normal. He obviously succeeded, since the other side sighed in relief. “When?”

 

“Three o’clock would be great. I know it’s early for you, but I’d really appreciate it. I’ll pay you extra, of course.”

 

“I’ll be there.”

 

Bucky replied automatically to the thanks before he hung up and leaned back against the wall. The cold, hard concrete grounded him. He buried his face in his hands.

 

It would still be bright outside when he left for work, but that couldn’t be helped. He dressed slowly, careful to make sure he looked presentable and unsuspicious.

 

Bucky had forgotten his reason for existence a long time ago, but for now “Steve” would have to do. He just had to pretend that he still functioned like a human being, until- _-well, until whenever he stopped being able to do that._

 

He hoped that day would come sooner rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think about the chapters! I appreciate it.  
> English is not my first language and i don't have a beta, so sorry for any grammar/word choice mistakes.


	3. Expanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's perspective on what happened on the rainy night.

The sky darkened as the day crept away. Darkness swept in and smothered the city streets in its tight grasp. 

 

Loki sighed.

 

He could feel his magic draining away, leaving a defeated, empty shell. He had not made it back to Asgard after he had faked his death before his sorry excuse of a brother. Instead, the remnants of Chitauri found him at his most vulnerable and they had done something to take his power away. 

 

He did not know how long it had been since they had captured him, but when he’d escaped--barely--he found himself here on Earth.  _ Wonderful luck as always, _ Loki thought bitterly,  _ just the place I want to be--the planet that I last invaded, where every mortal with some sense would love to see me dead. _

 

By the time he reached a hidden alley, his power had dimmed so much  that he could not maintain his disguise. The pale skin faded with his magic, and left his monstrous true self exposed. It was raining, and he had never felt so weak, so helpless and ashamed. 

 

Loki paused when he realized that he was not alone.

 

A man trembled in the corner of the alley. He rocked back and forth and whimpered as though he was in great pain. The man curled into himself to find comfort, then began to struggle. He mumbled incoherent words in different languages, as his whole body shook and his limbs thrashed like he fought an invisible enemy. 

 

Loki regarded the man on the ground, surprised and yet relieved to find someone more miserable than himself. A strange pity overwhelmed him, and made him want to act. The last of his magic could snap the man's neck and end his suffering...or he could try that in another way.

 

The last trace of his energy spun, dissolved as a splash of green, and sank into the man’s body. He had no idea why he had done that for someone he had just met. A last attempt, maybe--he just didn’t know for what.

It worked, evidently. The man froze, panting but calmer. The man looked up at him with the bluest eyes he had ever seen, his messy brown hair fallen to the side. 

 

Loki suddenly had an urge to talk, to listen. The notion was so ridiculous that he laughed at himself. There he was, the God of Lies and Mischief, and he wanted to have an honest conversation with a stranger in a back alley. 

 

The man stared at him, his gaze travelling quickly up and down. _ Ah. _ Loki became intensely aware that his illusion no longer remained. His deception was finally exposed, dragged into the light.

 

“Are you afraid?” he asked, almost bitter.

 

The man’s eyes widened, but he didn’t answer. Loki frowned. He sensed no fear of any sort, which was not what he expected when a mortal saw his real form. 

 

“Why are you so sad?”

 

The question caught him off guard. He had disregarded his own emotions for so long that he didn’t know if he had any emotions left. Hatred he could understand. He hated a lot of things: the damned Chitauri for taking his precious power away from him, Odin for giving him a dream then stepping on it, Thor for…being Thor. He hated the Avengers for defeating and humiliating him, hated both Midgard and Asgard for being so meaningless, and hated all their people. But what would he be sad about? Honestly, he didn’t know. When he called the man piteous, he did not feel much satisfaction. 

 

_ Good at reading people? _ Loki smirked. If only this man knew who he really was -- a monster lurking in children’s nightmares, an abomination to be slain.

 

The man collapsed, and Loki remained in his spot, gaze calculating. The man’s left arm was made of metal. It had been an interesting encounter,  albeit a meaningless one. Loki shook his head, and walked away without looking back. The next day this man would wake up and think it had been a dream.They would never see each other again. 

 

He couldn’t have been more wrong.


	4. Cracks

It turned out that losing his magic was not the only thing he had to worry about.

 

When Loki looked down at his hands and saw his very human-looking skin, he froze. It couldn’t have been the illusion he had created because right now, he felt no magic in his entire body. Instead, his eyelids felt heavy, his stomach ached, and every muscle in his body was sore. His throat screamed for water and it hurt like hell when he punched the wall.

 

_ Damn it. _

 

Groaning, Loki tried to stand up, but almost hit the floor again when a wave of nausea passed through his head. He still wore Asgardian clothing, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. It seemed that he had passed out for a long time because the street lights were already lit. Loki had never felt so exhausted in his long life. His legs moved on their own, with no purpose or destination in mind, until a heavy object pushed him backwards.

 

“Hey, watch it, asshole!”

 

The sound woke him from his half-conscious state. Loki’s eyes focused on several men with tattooed arms and knives in their hands. He had to figure out what was happening and what the Chitauri had done.  _ Was it a spell? A curse? An artifact like that scepter, or-- _

 

“Are you high or something? I asked you to apologize, right fucking now!”

 

“Shut up!” he hissed. “I am trying to think!”

 

Loki half-expected the baseball bat to bounce off his skin, but that didn’t happen. Instead, he felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He coughed and cried out in pain, then a knife pierced his side. He tried to conjure a weapon, or create an illusion of himself, but nothing happened. He punched one of the men in the stomach, but rather than fly backwards, the man grabbed his wrist and twisted. Loki couldn’t help but scream. 

 

_ Right, I am no longer Asgardian.  _

 

The flow of power that had accompanied him throughout his life had vanished without a trace, leaving him defenseless, hollow, and incomplete. A punch connected with his face, and Loki tasted his own blood. Pain was no foreign sensation, but never had physical fighting caused him agony so intense and so intolerable. He landed on the ground, hearing the sound of bone cracking and cursing and loud breathing. His vision blurred, and his body hurt. 

 

“Maybe we should back off, man.”

 

The sound was muffled, an unpleasant buzz in his ears.

 

“He’s probably high, or drunk, come on…”

 

“Shut up! He disrespected me and he needs to pay for it!”

 

Something pressed on his chest. Loki gasped for air, his arms and legs pinned down and immobile.

 

_ Is this what being human felt like? So vulnerable, helpless and powerless… No wonder they would put on metal armour or pump serums inside their bodies. _

 

“Do you understand your mistake now? Huh?” Foul breath blew on his face, and Loki struggled to see. “Beg for my forgiveness, and I might let you go with only one scar under your pretty eyes.”

 

Loki spat in the man’s face. From the outraged roar, he assumed that he had not missed.

 

The cock of a gun echoed in his ears. So was this it? Loki almost laughed out loud. He couldn’t imagine Thor’s face if his brother saw him like this. This looked like such an undignified ending, even for a human. Then again, at least he wouldn’t have to live like those inferior mortals, crawling on Earth with no significance at all. 

 

“Get away from him.”

 

_ What? _

 

“Who the hell are you? This is none of your fucki--”

 

“Get...away...from him.”   
  


The voice sounded familiar, coarse and deep with a certain rawness. Pain drowned out the sounds around him, and Loki gave in to the darkness that devoured his entire being. The last thing he saw was a pair of blue eyes colder than ice. Loki found himself back on the Bifrost, falling and falling into the uncaring void. Thor was yelling at him with pure panic in his eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, and everything disappeared. 


	5. Capillary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky takes care of Loki after the alley fight. Mainly focused on Bucky being the good guy that he is and Loki being Loki.

 

“You’re awake.”

 

Loki groaned. He opened his eyes, and tried to assess his surroundings. The room held no furniture aside from the bed he occupied and a small desk. “Where…am I?”

 

“My place,” a brown-haired man replied like that was the most obvious thing in the world. Loki couldn’t help but snort. His host didn’t seem offended though--the man pulled the worn but clean blanket over his shoulder and elaborated, “New York City, United States, Earth.”

 

“How did you know I am not from this planet?” Loki asked, more confused than before. As he became more conscious the sensation of pain intensified, as did his exhaustion and hunger. They overtook his thoughts. A wave of sharpness hit and he hissed in agony.The blue-eyed man threw a glance in his direction, concerned.

 

“Jesus, you’re not from this planet? I was just joking.” The man’s voice was soft and gentle, with a hint of amusement. “Where are you from then, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

 

“Asgard,” Loki replied. He winced from the soreness spreading beneath his skin.

 

Rather than ask what on earth Asgard is like a normal person should, the man shrugged. “Sounds like a cool place. I’m from Brooklyn, also in this country.”

 

“I know that. I have been here many times, thank you very much,” Loki muttered, unable to hold back the bitter sarcasm in his voice. He had been here far too many times for both his and the planet’s own good.

 

The man reached for Loki’s face, and he flinched. The man stepped back as though Loki had  yelled in his face. Panic layered his voice. “I’m sorry! You had a fever and I, um, don’t have a thermometer, so I had to take your temperature the old-fashioned way. I’m sorry. I should have asked before trying to touch you.”

 

Loki stared at the man in disbelief. He didn’t know if he should feel annoyed or amused. The realization hit him as he glanced at the man’s left arm--made of the same shiny metal he had seen that night. This was the mortal that he’d used the last of his magic on. Loki remembered that the man would not recognize him in this form, and the fact disappointed him.  _ Why should I be disappointed that a stranger does not remember meeting me for five minutes? _ Loki mused.  _ I suppose being human comes with a huge emotional starter package _ .

 

“I forgive you. For the sake of the Norns, stop apologizing. You did not even touch me. I think the fever is gone now.” He coughed. His head cleared more each second. “What’s your name?”

 

“Bucky.”

 

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

 

“Mmm-hmm,” Bucky hummed. He walked about  with some plastic bags. “What’s yours?”

 

“Loki.” 

 

“That’s ridiculous.” Bucky smirked at him, tone playful.

 

Loki snorted. “Look who’s talking.” 

 

A few seconds of comfortable silence passed. Bucky took some cans out of the bags and placed them on the desk in the corner. Loki observed his movements. Bucky’s actions were rigid and controlled, indicative of a long-term military service. His arm--or the lack of it--further proved him marked by war. A heaviness settled in his posture and the movement of his muscles. There was, however, something peculiar about it. Bucky’s expression tightened with pain, although he seemed perfectly healthy physically, if a bit sleep-deprived. 

 

“Why did you help me?” Loki asked suddenly.

 

“I dunno.” Bucky shrugged again. “Because I wanted to and it made me feel good, I guess.”

 

Loki had prepared several aggressive questions if the man gave him a speech about justice, honour, or kindness, but this answer was so honest that he couldn’t find a retort. Instead, he kept his voice as cold as possible. “I don't recall asking for your help.”

 

“Well, you see...” Bucky turned around to look at him, eyebrows raised. “I helped you because I wanted to, so I didn’t really need a request.”

 

_ Damn, this guy makes it difficult for me to be difficult. _ Loki blew out a breath. “What I mean is, you may have saved me, but I owe you nothing. I will not repay you in any way, and I will not be obligated to do anything at your request.”

 

“Fine by me.” Bucky looked nonchalant. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

Loki, for the first time, was completely speechless. He wanted to yell at Bucky for not taking his bait, for being so nice to a complete stranger who may very well want to kill him, for looking somehow irritating and irresistibly attractive at the same time. Loki shook his head hard to get the last thought out of his system, and tried one last time to make a bad impression. “If you wanted gratefulness from me, you have helped the wrong person.”

 

“Look, pal,” Bucky sighed, “we’ve been over this. I don’t want anything from you, and you can do whatever you want as soon as you’re well enough.  Maybe you don’t want to stay here--y’know, seeing as this isn’t really a nice place and all--but since I carried you all the way over here, you’ll just have to deal with it for now.”

 

A loud growl interrupted their pointless conversation, and Loki’s face flushed an obvious shade of pink. Bucky pretended to not notice the blush or his embarrassment, but Loki could have sworn that the bastard was trying not to laugh out loud. 

 

“I’ve been a horrible host, you must be very hungry,” Bucky commented. He came to the bed with a bowl in both hands. “You should start with this soup, though. Go easy on your stomach.”

 

“I’m not thirsty.” That was the worst lie ever, and Loki knew it as soon as he uttered the words in a hoarse, strained voice. Bucky rolled his eyes and shoved the bowl into his hands.

 

“Y’know, you can drink it or not. It’s your choice.”   
  


Loki stared at the soup.

 

_ It does smell good. _

  
  


“If you want it, better hurry before it goes cold,” Bucky said with a smirk on his face. He strolled out.

 

_ Only because it would be rude to reject his hospitality, _ Loki told himself. He took a sip. The taste of meat and bone reminded him of the celebratory feasts in Asgard. His mortal body demanded food and drink, and he gulped down the warm liquid.

 

Loki wondered if this was a common dish in Midgard. It had been a long time since he’d savoured the buttery sweetness of bone marrow. Thor, powerful and crude warrior that he was, preferred roast boar at his feast table, washed down with copious amounts of ale. However, Loki could never bring himself to love the taste of beer. He remembered the mocking glances thrown in his direction during numerous celebratory feasts, and the whispered comments that Odin’s second son “drinks like a woman”. He had ignored the criticism with pride. After all, a king is never bothered by the opinion of fools.

 

Bucky returned to the room. His expression was relaxed, like he didn’t consider Loki, a complete stranger in his room, any kind of threat. That underestimation irritated Loki.  _ But again, I’m harmless without my magic. _

 

Frustrated with himself for becoming a charity case, Loki passed Bucky the bowl, and muttered a very quiet “thanks”. He barely resisted the urge to scoff when Bucky’s face lit up with satisfaction.

 

Fatigue finally swept over him, and he embraced the darkness. Loki hadn’t felt this safe in a long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed this chapter! Things are about to get more interesting, and the tone will not be as dark.


	6. Exposure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the late update! I will try to update more regularly from now on. I hope you enjoy this chapter :)  
> Again, I am very grateful to yumekuimono who helped to edit my work.

It was an ordinary day for Bucky Barnes--until he stumbled upon an alley fight.

 

He had reached the more deserted streets near his apartment when he froze at the shouts from around the corner. His first instinct was to turn away--the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. Besides, he had caused enough violence for a lifetime.

 

It was too late, however, as he could already see them--five people with similar tattoos clustered together around a figure sprawled on the ground. One of the aggressors, a bald, muscular man about six feet tall, stepped on the victim’s chest and pressed down. The man on the ground made a pained sound. The bald man leaned forward. 

 

_ It’s none of your business. Walk away, _ Bucky told himself. He ordered his legs to move, but they stayed glued to the same spot. An unexpected, familiar voice arose in his mind:  _ I can do this all day. _

 

A tremor ran through his body like lightning, and the world around him whirled. The tattooed men blurred. The figure on the ground became a scrawny kid with blond hair bright as gold. All of a sudden, Bucky was seventeen again, the streets seventy years younger. 

 

The bald man recoiled, yelling and cursing. He pulled a gun. Bucky heard his own voice, but lighter and higher.  _ Hey! Pick on someone your own size! Get away-- _

 

“Get away from him.” Bucky’s mouth moved before he was aware. Heads turned to look at him, and he sighed.  _ Damn, so much for staying out of trouble. _

 

“Who the hell are you? This is none of your fucki--”

 

Adrenaline pumped blood through his veins. He was James Buchanan Barnes, protector of the weak and reckless, and instincts once buried in his memory took over.

 

“Get...away...from him.”   
  


The bald man obeyed--and charged at Bucky instead. Bucky raised his left arm to deflect the bullets, and elbowed the man in the stomach. When he stumbled back in shock, Bucky grabbed his throat with the metal hand and yanked the gun out of his grip. He threw the bald man into the wall, and kicked the knife out of another attacker’s hand. 

 

Within two minutes, four men slumped on the street or against the wall. The fifth stood with his mouth hung wide open. He took one step away from Bucky, took another, and then ran like he had seen the devil personified. Bucky sighed. He appraised the bald man to ensure there was no longer a threat. The Asset’s cold monotone slithered into his head:  _ Finish the target. Kill him and eliminate any future risk. _

 

“Fuck off,” Bucky breathed. He turned to observe the man on the ground.

 

It was surprising that Bucky had mistaken this man for Steve, even in a hazy memory. He was tall and lean, with long, dark hair that curled at his shoulders. The stranger wore a curious green-and-gold outfit that belonged in a fantasy movie. He also looked terrible--his skin was pale and bags sat under his eyes. His face was bruised and blood trailed down the corner of his mouth. 

 

Bucky examined the man for injuries, and found a slash to the side in addition to smaller cuts, numerous bruises, a broken ankle, a dislocated shoulder, and several fractured ribs. None of them were life-threatening and no vital organs had been hit. 

 

He hesitated. The man might die from blood loss if left here, but Bucky wasn't willing to expose himself to the public attention of a hospital yet. The best course of action would be to take the man to his apartment. Bucky had had his share of knife wounds and fractured ribs--he could deal with them himself. 

 

Although Bucky’s apartment would be safer than the hospital, this solution was not risk-free either. Bucky had no idea who this man was or what his intentions might be. Even so, he wouldn’t be able to do much in his injured state. If the man proved to be a problem, Bucky could overpower him.

 

Decided, Bucky cut a strip from his shirt with one of the attackers’ knives, and roughly wrapped the stab wound. He lifted the man into his arms, careful to avoid the injuries, and found him light for his height. Bucky crept through the streets, under cover of the shadows. 

 

He noticed another familiar-looking alley as he waited for some police cars to pass by. The image of the blond boy emerged in his mind once more, there on the street corner. Steve leaned against the dirty alley wall. He could barely stand, but he raised his fists. Light danced in his eyes, fierce and defiant. 

 

Bucky sighed. Despite the change in appearance, the Steve Rogers he’d met on the Helicarrier had not changed at all. The same light shone in him. Steve would always be too determined to give up. Bucky wished that Steve would abandon his pointless search--the person Steve sought had been dead for a long time.

He could pretend to be the innocent young man untainted by war and pain in moments like that alley fight. However, regardless of his efforts to suppress it, he could never be free of the dark urge of the Asset to kill and destroy.

 

“Please, Steve,” he murmured, “just this once--please don’t be so stubborn.”

 

Bucky knew this plea was futile. Captain America or not, Steve would try to save him. Bucky didn’t know if there was anything left in him to be saved this time.

 

The man in his arms groaned, but did not wake. Bucky could not afford to expose the truth of  _ what  _ he was to this stranger, the monster that resided in him. He would need to create a mask, a false identity to present when they actually interacted. It should be simple, like one of his undercover assignments. He would find a disguise that appeared natural, unsuspicious, and friendly.

 

He would become James “Bucky” Barnes, a ghost from seventy years ago, a man that no longer existed.


	7. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki struggles with a fever and dreams of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I need to thank my wonderful beta for editing this chapter. Sorry it took so long :) I had some exams.

Loki dreamed of Asgard. The taste of bone broth lingered on his tongue.

-oOo-

It was the day Thor and Loki had led their first battle as commanders. After their victory, Odin rewarded Thor with two magical goats. The Allfather put a hand on Thor’s shoulder, and announced with pride that all Asgardians would celebrate his son with a banquet. Loki stood behind his brother, left to regard Odin’s smile with bitterness and longing.

 _Look at me,_ _Father,_ he wanted to say. _Please look at me._

He desired no gifts, longed for no celebration. His only wish was for Odin to proclaim, “This is Loki, my second son, who fought bravely by his brother’s side.”

Loki waited.

Odin was too busy toasting Thor to spare him a glance.

Thor beamed at Loki with such smugness that Loki could no longer maintain his joyous mask. He had to look away, unable to tame the rage in his chest.

-oOo-

His body burned, but he shivered. Layers of ice and scorching fire trapped him between them. Wetness travelled across his skin, cooling his heated limbs. The sensation comforted him. He heard the muffled voice again. He still could not comprehend what it said, but it calmed him and quenched his anger.

-oOo-

Thor’s goats could be resurrected by Mjölnir indefinitely as long as their bones were not broken. On the next journey they took together, Loki convinced a farmboy to break one of the leg bones open and extract the marrow, then made him think that he had done it out of his own will. It was an easy magic trick. Loki smiled as Thor praised the family for the delicious meal, unaware that it contained his beloved pet. The goat marrow tasted of sweet retribution on his tongue.

The next day, the revived goat walked with a limp. Thor bellowed at the trembling peasant family. The farm boy fell at Thor’s feet and begged to serve the Prince of Asgard in atonement for his crime.

Loki stood in the shadows, and smiled as Thor’s face darkened for the rest of the day. He knew that it was a childish attempt to sour his father’s gift, yet he couldn't care less.

-oOo-

The brief feeling of joy gave way to despair as he drifted underwater, blind and suffocated. He felt a touch on his forehead, and heard the whisper of a voice. Before he could attempt to open his eyes, darkness consumed him once more.

-oOo-

“Father, I want to talk to you about Thor.”

“Loki.” Odin did not turn to face him. “I have already told you, my decision will not change.”

“He is not ready, Father! He would wage war against anyone who displeases him, he is too hot-headed and proud--”

“That’s enough!” Odin roared, and Loki shuddered. “Who should I name king instead? You? Beware of envy, Loki, it would be your downfall.”

 _Envy?_ Loki laughed. _This was all about my envy? Of course… But Father, I don’t want the throne, I don’t even want the power and glory that Thor has. Just look at me, Father. I am also here. I am also trying. I’ve become one of the best strategists in the Nine Realms. I’ve trained myself day and night. I’ve developed plans to maintain Asgard’s authority in times of war or peace. Didn’t you say that I too could become king? Didn't you once consider me equal to Thor? Didn't you promise the throne to both of us? Why would you say that, then never look at me?_

-oOo-

Loki cared about his brother.

No matter what he tried to believe, he always would. He had loved Thor during their childhood. Then he envied Thor after realizing that their father had chosen a favourite a long time ago, and he hated Thor with everything he had for taking Odin’s favour for granted. Even so, he couldn’t help but care about Thor.

In his fevered delirium, Loki saw Thor raise his hammer with a glorious smile. All eyes turned to Thor as plants chased after the Sun, eager for its everlasting light -- a light that would never reach him. He was cold.

At that moment, Loki decided that he would make those people look at him instead.

-oOo-

“Kneel!”

The mortals yielded before him. Their faces held so many emotions that he wanted to laugh and taunt them further. He counted anger, fear, and disgust. Pride overtook him as he savoured their glares. All eyes were on him.

However, the gaze of masses conquered by his hand was not the same as the look Odin reserved for Thor. Loki had expected joy or at least satisfaction, but they never came. After the initial excitement of ruling over the masses, his expression turned blank.

They saw him, but they didn’t know him.

They saw him, but they were nothing to him, so he felt nothing.

-oOo-

He could not sense the passage of time.

He last remembered the sound of a gun cocking. The dull “click” opened a sense of danger in his mind, and the terror of death.

-oOo-

His mother was dead.

His mother, who had loved him and taught him to work magic. His mother who had favoured him when Odin did not. His mother was gone and he couldn't help but wonder if it had been his fault. If he had not told the monster where to go, would she still have died? If he had been there, would she have survived?

His magic exploded, throwing the carefully arranged tables and chairs against the walls. He screamed with the agony of a trapped animal, cried until there were no tears left. He blamed everyone he could blame, but most of all he blamed himself.

_I killed my mother._

He picked up the broken pieces of wood from the chair, staring at them. His mind went blank, refusing to process this simple fact. He needed to feel something, anything.

_I killed my mother._

It was not right. It couldn’t have happened. It must have been a dream.

He stepped on the shards of wood viciously, watching it cut deep into his flesh. The sharp pain reminded him that everything was real. Crimson trailed down his pale skin. The pool of blood on the floor crept outward, and suddenly he saw his mother at his feet. Her lifeless eyes stared in wide disappointment. There was so much blood…

With a whimper, Loki let his body slide down the wall, feeling raw and vulnerable.

The one person in the entire universe that loved him unconditionally was gone, and he had been the reason. He would have laughed at the irony and absurdity of it, but he couldn’t.

He stayed in that position, indifferent to the passage of time, until the sound of footsteps approached. In a panic, he enveloped the entire cell with his magic. A trickster, he reminded himself, I am a trickster, I am cold, ruthless, uncaring.

He tried to mask his grief. Thor should not have seen any of it, but somehow he did. Loki knew why. His illusions were flawed because a voice whispered in his mind that distracted him from any effort to build a convincing facade.

_I killed my mother._

Thor was the last person he wanted to witness his weakness. One corner of his mouth curved up. How typical of Thor, only choosing to visit him when he did not want to be seen. Loki’s magic crumbled when he gave up his glamour.

“Now you see me…brother.”

He felt numb.

-oOo-

He felt a gentle touch on his forehead. It lingered for a few seconds, then fingers tucked his hair behind his ears. When the warmth disappeared, he reached out… Someone caught his hand, their grip light but reassuring. The voice returned, and he could understand for the first time.

“It's okay,” the person said. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

 _Don't let go,_ Loki thought, _don't let go._

They didn’t.

-oOo-

“I could have done it, Father!” Loki cried, his voice hopeful. “I could have done it, for you!”

_Look at me, Father. Please, look at me._

His reward was the disappointment on Odin’s face. “No, Loki.” The Allfather gave the verdict, and Loki understood.

_He will never see me. Even if he looks at me, he will never see me, for I am nothing but ice. I can do nothing but reflect Thor’s glory. I have no colour, I have no light._

Loki sentenced himself to death.

-oOo-

Loki blinked his eyes open. Exhaustion washed over him. He groaned and tried to adjust to the brightness and colours around him. Dizziness and dull pain threatened to pull him into sleep again.

“Hey there.”

The familiar voice dragged him back into reality. Loki blinked again. He recognized that icy, greyish blue.

“B-Bucky?”

“That’s me. Take it easy, you had a fever, but it’s gone now. Welcome back, Loki.”

Bags dragged at Bucky’s eyes. Still, he smiled, gaze fixed on the Asgardian. An inexplicable calm overwhelmed Loki, and he understood why he felt so safe in the mortal’s presence. Bucky had seen him at his lowest, but Bucky was still here.

For the first time after he let go of his father’s staff on the Bifrost, Loki dared to hope.

 

  



End file.
